Young & Beautiful

Liam gushes, and stares at Zayn like he’s made of glittering gold. Liam is also the editor of the
student newspaper because he’s a bloody overachiever. Work is fun for him. Or, rather, getting
the prestige and holding a position of power is fun for him.
“Isn’t that how it usually is, though?” Harry asks mildly, now staring into the glassy eyes of
Berkley.
Liam beams, completely unfazed. “Yes, but today I was able to call order and dismiss everyone.”
Liam positively gloats, rubbing a hand along Zayn’s back as he stares at him with adoration.
“Next week he said that I can send out the e-mails.”
“Oh, well that’s…cute,” Louis mutters with a disgusted roll of the eyes, and from the corner,
Harry’s laugh threatens to emerge before he stuffs it back inside and sends an indifferent sniff
Louis’ way.
Louis notices. Which makes his own lips quirk upward.
“I’m ready,” Niall suddenly announces randomly—clearly uninvested in the conversation—as he
seems to be unaware that it’s still happening, plowing between the boys, eyes set on the door.
“You should bring a change of clothes. We’re playing croquet,” Harry says as he begins poking at
a pile of Louis’ school books on the table.
“Why would you need a change of clothes for croquet?” Louis scoffs, and Liam turns to him with
a quizzical brow.
“Why wouldn’t you?” he counters, and it’s genuine and light, while Zayn grins at Louis’
expression.
Louis tries his best to control his judgment. “Right. Well, I think I’ll just wear this, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” Harry breezes, now in the kitchen, shamelessly opening cabinets and peering
inside of them, examining the contents of the whole flat.
Which, no.
He may be warming up to Harry in some small way, may even be indebted to him, but Louis will
absolutely not stand for a boy who thinks he owns the world and doesn’t respect others’
boundaries. So with a glare and a firm step, he marches to the other side of the cabinet door and
snaps it shut in Harry’s face, leveling him with narrowed eyes.
“Don’t snoop, it’s rude. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?” he scolds.
And just like that, Harry’s eyes darken.
There’s a pregnant pause in the room, heavier than it should be, and Louis momentarily wonders
what he’s done (he was in the right, after all, the fucker was just opening cabinets at will), as the
boys stare betwixt the two, Niall chewing on his fingernail, Zayn peering with lidded eyes, stone
still, and Liam in a similar fixture, absentmindedly picking at his fingers, almost nervously.
But Louis continues to stare at Harry, who’s building walls before his very eyes, his perfect brows
arching in distaste, his rosebud lips twisting.
“She couldn’t,” he says shortly, and he takes a step back, immediately cold and guarded.
Eh?